Chicken Tortellini Skillet

Vanessa is pregnant. She called me at 9 PM on a Wednesday, crying the happy tears of a woman who has wanted this for three years and was starting to wonder. She said, "I'm going to be a mom." I said, "You already are a mom to Imani." She said, "I know. But this one is MINE." The possessiveness of biology. The particular claim of a body that has made a person. I understand it even as I know it's not the only way to mother. Biology is one door. Choice is another. Both lead to the kitchen.

I am going to be an aunt. Not by blood — by love, by choice, by the twenty-five-year friendship that has survived Spelman and divorce and death and a pandemic and will survive motherhood because motherhood is just another table to set and Vanessa and I have been setting tables together since we were twenty years old and stupid and brave.

Made a celebration meal — just Vanessa and me, at my kitchen table, while Derek took the kids and Brian took Imani and we sat alone with pasta and wine (she had sparkling water — the sacrifice has begun) and we talked about everything: the baby, the fear, the joy, the fact that our mothers aren't here to see this (Vanessa's mother passed in 2019, a loss I wrote about then, a loss that echoes Mama's). Two women at a table, eating pasta, missing their mothers, celebrating the future. This is what friendship looks like at forty: pasta and tears and the absolute refusal to let the table get smaller.

That night at my kitchen table, I wanted something that felt celebratory without being fussy — something warm and generous, the kind of food that says this moment matters without requiring me to leave Vanessa alone in the living room while I fussed over a stove for an hour. This chicken tortellini skillet was exactly that: one pan, thirty minutes, and enough richness to feel like a real occasion. Tortellini has always felt a little festive to me — those little stuffed pillows, like someone wrapped something precious inside — and on a night when we were celebrating new life and missing the women who gave us ours, festive felt right.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4 (easily halved for two)

Ingredients

1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 (9 oz) package refrigerated cheese tortellini
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
2 cups fresh baby spinach
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh basil or parsley, for garnish

Instructions

Season and sear the chicken. Pat chicken pieces dry and season generously with salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken in a single layer and cook 4–5 minutes, turning once, until golden and cooked through. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium and add remaining tablespoon of olive oil to the same skillet. Add garlic and cook 30–60 seconds until fragrant, scraping up any browned bits from the chicken. Add cherry tomatoes and cook 2–3 minutes until they begin to soften and release their juices.
Add liquid and tortellini. Pour in chicken broth and heavy cream. Bring to a gentle simmer, then add tortellini. Cook according to package directions (usually 5–7 minutes), stirring occasionally, until tortellini are tender and the sauce has thickened slightly.
Finish the skillet. Return cooked chicken to the pan. Add spinach and stir until wilted, about 1 minute. Stir in Parmesan until melted and sauce is creamy. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.
Serve immediately. Ladle into shallow bowls, top with additional Parmesan, fresh basil or parsley, and red pepper flakes if using. Best eaten at a kitchen table with someone you’ve known for twenty-five years.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Tortellini Skillet — The Pasta We Made When Everything Changed